


What Makes The Home

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bubble Bath, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's favorite thing about the brownstone he and Phil get together is the master bathroom. Clint's favorite, favorite thing about the brownstone he and Phil get together is Phil. And bubbles. Bubbles are good, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes The Home

**Author's Note:**

> so brassmama requested a bubble bath fic over at tumblr, This turned out kinda long for tumblr, soooo. Here it is.

The first time Clint and Phil spend the night in their new brownstone, Clint takes an hour long bath in the master bathroom.

_Master bathroom_. Clint had always, always thought that if he was living somewhere with indoor plumbing and a shower that worked, well, then he was fine and right where he belonged. That a place would have more than one bathroom always seemed beyond reach and a little dumb to wish for. There were more important things for a place to have, like a kick-ass kitchen so he could cook enough food to fill a freezer, or a stereo system good enough that he could crank up his favorite songs as loud as he wanted, or a washer and dryer in the place so he didn’t have to save quarters in little plastic baggies all the time or lose his socks to anything except his _own_ damned dryer.

A master bathroom seems excessive.

But he loves it, and he spends an hour in it while Phil is putting away books on the bookshelves downstairs after Clint declares himself too tired to unpack one more thing. He almost falls asleep in the deep bathtub, but Phil knocks lightly and comes in with a plush towel before he dozes completely off.

“The bathroom is my new favorite thing,” he mumbles into Phil’s shoulder that night as they slip off to sleep in their new bed.

“Thanks for moving in with me,” Phil whispers against Clint’s hair.

Clint wants to roll over and raise an eyebrow and explain again that it’s not a chore, it makes perfect sense to get one place instead of traipsing back and forth between two, and getting to wake up with Phil every damned morning when they’re not on an op is the best thing that could ever happen to Clint, but he’s sleepy and just manages to murmur, “’s’okay. Love you,” before he closes his eyes and can’t get them back open again.

Home has never been a very firm idea in Clint’s mind. It has always seemed like a flimsy word, frail, even, and very, very breakable. Now, having a place with Phil feels at first like just another place, only a lot prettier, more put-together, and with a better bathroom. When they’re out on ops, he feels like a kid with object permanence problems, like when they leave the place it must disappear, too, and it doesn’t sit in the back of Clint’s mind waiting for him at all. It is gone when he is gone from it.

It takes about eight months before he is sitting on a plane and his face hurts from all the bruises, and he hasn’t slept in a day, and he’s hungry. Something else feels weird, though, and it takes Phil finally coming back from the front of the plane and kneeling down in front of Clint to check on him when Clint realizes what it is. He sucks in a deep breath as Phil puts his hands on Clint’s knees.

“Clint?” Phil asks, because Phil has catalogued all of Clint’s reactions to ops, and this isn’t one of them.

Clint closes his eyes briefly and then whispers, “I want to go home,” like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever thought before.

Phil’s smile is wide, and his eyes sparkle in the dingy light of the plane. “Okay. Let’s debrief on the ride back to base, and then we’ll get you home.”

Two hours later, Clint is dozing in the front seat of their car as Phil drives them home. There’s nothing to be done for the massive bruising on his chest and face, so medical just handed him a bottle of prescription strength ibuprofen and wished him luck.

“I know what you need,” Phil says as he helps Clint pull himself out of the car.

“What?” Clint asks, trying to bite back a groan.

“A bubble bath.”

Clint stops walking and Phil almost trips.

“What?” Phil asks.

“I’ve never had one,” he answers. He doesn’t add that he always figured it was a weird thing girls did and who would want to fill that glorious hot water with soapy bubbles when you could just soak in the heat?

“Never?” Phil asks, tugging on Clint’s good arm to get him moving again. “You take long baths all the time.”

“Not bubble baths. I just fill the tub with hot water and go at it.”

Phil just nods and leads Clint inside. He helps Clint out of his coat and deposits him on the couch. “Wait here. Give me ten minutes and I guarantee you’ll feel better than ever, soon.” He gets Clint some juice to drink and then disappears back to the bathroom. Clint can hear the water running. He starts to fall asleep to the sound.

“Clint, hey. Wake up,” Phil says, and when Clint looks up, Phil is standing there in his blue silk boxers and leaning over to pull Clint off the couch. “Come on. This is worth it.”

Clint stands and follows him, and Phil insists on undressing in the bedroom first. He helps Clint out of his pants and boxers, and pulls Clint’s shirt over his head gently. He frowns at Clint’s bruises, but then sighs, pulls his own boxers off, and says, “Come on.”

When Clint gets to the bathroom he hardly recognizes it. Their big Jacuzzi-style tub has a nice edge to it, wide enough for a plate of nachos when Clint wants to soak and listen to music and snack after work. It’s a beige tub and the two walls around it have marbled sand-colored slate tiles halfway up and a soft, gold glossy paint to the ceiling. Phil has lined the edge of the tub with lit white candles, and they’re subtly scented with lilac. There are two glasses of white wine in the midst of the candles, and the bathroom light is off; the warm glow from the tub meets the scent of the candles to make Clint’s body go a little limp with his first step into the room.

Phil’s hand is resting against the small of Clint’s back, and he pushes Clint toward the tub, but then he steps around Clint and climbs into the tub first, holding a hand out to help Clint in.

Clint steps to the edge of the tub and looks at the bubbles. They look thick and inviting and he takes a deep breath as he grasps Phil’s hand and steps into the perfectly hot water. The bubbles are soft on his feet, and he stands still for a moment, letting the bubbles lap against his calves. Phil is still standing, but he sits down, leaning against the back of the tub and watching Clint with a glint in his eye. Clint sits, too, his back to the other end of the tub, and the bubbles feel funny on his butt at first, but then he sinks down and it’s like they’re magic. They smell like a field of flowers, the candlelight flickers across them like little shards of gold flecks, and they brush Clint’s skin like a soft breeze.

“Feel okay?” Phil asks, leans forward, and hands him a glass of wine.

Clint smiles, takes the glass, and nods. “Beyond okay. Someone should have told me about this much, much sooner.”

Phil cants his head a bit in acquiescence. “Sorry. Didn’t realize it was on your list.”

Once, they had both sat down and made lists of things they’d never done or had but figured people with normal childhoods would have had. Phil’s upbringing was more traditional than Clint’s, but it was still pretty unique. He had quite a few things on his list, too.

Clint sips his wine and watches the candlelight play across Phil’s face, sculpting shadows and making his blue eyes seem to dance. Clint is filled with contentment. He sets his glass down and scoots forward into Phil’s space, wraps his feet around Phil’s waist and pulls him close, so Phil’s feet have to wrap around Clint’s waist and they’re sitting chest to chest. The bubbles push up between them and Clint runs his hand through them, rubbing them against Phil’s belly and then he runs his hands around Phil’s waist to his back.

Phil presses a kiss to Clint’s lips and Clint scoots closer, so their bodies are pressed together, and he can feel the bubbles and Phil’s hands against his back and bubbles around his hips. He keeps his eyes open as Phil kisses him gently, so he can see what the candles do to Phil’s face up close. There’s a glow, an ethereal glow that ghosts across Phil’s eyes. The press of Phil’s lips against his own is soft, slow, and searching, like Phil is trying to taste Clint’s contentment.

Clint pulls back and runs a hand down Phil’s cheek, presses their foreheads together, and whispers, “Thanks for this.”

“You called our place home, Clint,” Phil whispers back.

“What?” Clint asks, a little louder now, and leaning back to get a better look at what’s going on in Phil’s eyes.

Phil sighs. “Tonight you said you wanted to go home. Until then this had always been ‘our place,’ or ‘the apartment,’ but never ‘home.’ If something like this can make you feel even more at home, then you deserve it.”

Clint leans in and kisses Phil again, slow and deep, and the room gets even warmer when he finally pulls back and puts a firm hand on Phil’s neck. “The place is good, but you do know what makes it home, that I haven’t had for this long a stretch since I was a kid, right?”

Phil looks at Clint with love pouring from his eyes, like Clint is another beautiful candle glowing in this room, and nods. “Yes,” he says, and Clint smiles at how well Phil knows him. “Someone to share it with,” Phil adds, and Clint leans in for another slow, soft kiss.

When they break for air, Clint reaches down, grabs some bubbles on his fingertips, and caresses them down Phil’s cheek. “Someone to share it with,” he repeats, and adds, “And a tub. I haven’t had a tub in a really, really long time.”

Phil laughs and splashes him with bubbles, and they lean back, drink their wine, and soak in the bubbles, in the candlelight, and in each other’s affection.

 


End file.
